


Sense and Sensuality

by CarolinaNadeau



Series: The Music Man: The Happily-Ever-After [6]
Category: The Music Man (1962), The Music Man - All Media Types, The Music Man - Willson
Genre: Confessions, Engagement, F/M, Fluffy Ending, French Kissing, Heavy Petting, Intimacy, Library Shenanigans, Light Angst, Literary Banter, Neck Kissing, Passion vs Propriety, Sexual Politics, Sexual Repression, Unresolved Sexual Tension, dirty books, love bite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-18
Updated: 2013-04-18
Packaged: 2017-12-08 20:50:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/765872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarolinaNadeau/pseuds/CarolinaNadeau
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Although she's always prided herself on being a sensible and proper woman, Marian is alarmed to see a different side of herself emerging as her wedding to Harold approaches - a side that she's not sure she can accept.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Awakening

**Author's Note:**

> This is easily the most ambitious piece I've written yet, although it's still pretty darn fluffy. I did my very best to make sure that it was tasteful despite the more suggestive subject matter, so hopefully I've succeeded in that.

_Don't feel a thing – you wish_   
_Grasping at pearls with my fingertips_   
_Holding her hand like some little tease_   
_Haven't you heard the word of my wanting?_   
_–Steven Sater/Duncan Sheik, "The Word of Your Body"– Spring Awakening_

xxx

From the moment that Marian Paroo had met Harold Hill, even when she had felt nothing for him but fierce anger and disgust, the librarian had been unnerved by the physical effect that the man had on her.

Certainly enough men had tried over the years to win her hand and her heart – or more often, she suspected, just her body – that Marian was no stranger to a man's attempts at charm. She was not a vain woman, but she had long ago become aware of the reality that she was attractive to men, and no amount of pointed coldness or aloofness in her demeanor could ever free her from their heavy-handed efforts at "romance".

So Marian had learned to endure these annoyances stoically, the same way that one learned to put up with the occasional paper cut or headache. When the romantic hero of her dreams came to sweep her off her feet, she knew that it would all be worth it – and she had no worries that her white knight might be among the men that she had been so quick to rebuff. For, while she was aware that kind, noble, honest and handsome men existed, and she had harbored girlish affections for more than a few in her younger days, the men who actually pursued her were far less appealing. While she sometimes felt a bit self-conscious that she had managed to reach the spinster's age of twenty-six without allowing herself to be courted even once – well, better to be alone with no regrets than to have yielded her first kiss to some gangly, buck-toothed youth or sneering, lecherous cad!

But then that July, Marian Paroo, who had trained herself to see men for the bumbling assortments of flaws that they were, had met the man who was by far the most flawed of them all – he would never, _could_ never love her, was clearly pursuing her as part of some despicable game – and she couldn't get him off her mind. Yes, he was witty, charming, and intelligent, but more than that was his sheer masculine _presence_ , the startling electric tingle that she felt when his fingers brushed her skin, the scent of his cologne and that low murmur in which he spoke to her, the waves of his dark shining hair that fell across his forehead, the heated intensity in his eyes. Even before she fell in love with Harold Hill, before she even _liked_ him, Marian knew deep down that she would have gladly, eagerly submitted to his kisses – maybe more, if he'd seduced her into it, which had certainly been his intention. He was the first man who had ever awakened such feelings within her; the first man she'd ever had to fight so hard to resist. If Harold hadn't decided to become a true gentleman at the last minute, goodness knows what would have happened between them!

And when all was said and done by the end of that turbulent month, when everything had changed so completely and Harold and Marian had pledged their love to one another, those feelings hadn't changed – but Harold certainly had, and when he began to court her properly, he showed much more restraint. Now that his every action toward her was no longer a part of a calculated seduction, Marian felt that she could trust herself again. Certainly, Harold was a passionate man, and their embraces often verged into the realm of the improper – Marian had no idea that there was so much to be learned simply about kissing, and Harold was quite the instructor! – but nothing that they had done was truly out of the ordinary for a couple in love, and Harold never pushed her.

Still, that charge of desire that they felt for one another lingered over their courtship, and as the months passed and they became more and more comfortable together, their embraces steadily grew more heated and prolonged – and once again, Marian was starting to fear her own impulses. Yes, she had dreamed for years of falling in love, marrying and having children, but she had never really considered marital relations as part of that equation; realistically, she knew that it was something that would have to happen, but it wouldn't be right to think of such things, and the whole process sounded too painful and embarrassing to be of any interest.

But when Harold kissed her and touched her, Marian's entire body seemed to cry out for more, and she knew, though the knowledge troubled her, that she wanted him. Thankfully, the wanting was still vague and obscure enough that she could usually manage to shake it off when they were no longer so entwined – at least, it was until one afternoon about two weeks before the wedding, when Marian found herself startlingly awakened to the intensity of her passions.

xxx

After a lengthy meeting with the Ladies' Events Committee, spent poring over the excruciating logistics of setting up a makeshift reception hall while almost every one of the ladies had seen fit to recount the finer points of her own wedding, Marian found herself in desperate need of a walk to clear her head. The day was sunny and warm for late November, so the librarian thought that it might be wise to take advantage of the unseasonable weather before the winter descended in earnest.

Eager to inform her fiancé of some of the more outrageous suggestions that she had been forced to deflect for their wedding, Marian sought out Harold at the Emporium. Just as she took hold of the door handle, she was rather shocked to feel it open from the other side. As it turned out, Harold was just as eager to get out as she was, after he had passed a dull morning filling in his ledgers, and before long the two of them were strolling along the lakeside together, talking and laughing about the perils of allowing the townsfolk to have any input over their wedding.

"Here we were supposed to be talking about how many chairs belong at a table, and Mrs. Squires and Mrs. Dunlop simply would not stop arguing about what kind of sleeves would look best on my wedding gown!" Marian exclaimed, rolling her eyes. "I know I could have stopped it by simply informing them that I already have my gown, but then they'd have all demanded to see it and criticize every little thing about it. Anyway, there'd have been no hope of keeping it a secret from you anymore after they'd all seen it – you'd know just what it looks like in under an hour!"

With a flirtatious grin, Harold took her hands and tugged her to stand close to him under the sparse shade of a tall, bare tree. "I'm sure no description could do justice to the real thing," he told her, kissing her forehead. "I bet you'll look like an angel in a wedding dress."

As pleased as she was by his words, Marian shook her head with a coy giggle. "An angel, now? I do think that's a new one. Will you never run out of ridiculous ways to flatter me?"

"'Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?'" Harold quoted, stealing an arm around her waist. "I know you've always wanted a man who'll quote Shakespeare to you..."

"Really, Harold?" Marian directed a challenging smirk at the professor. "I don't suppose you know the next line, then?"

Frowning for a moment, the music professor pressed his fingers to his temple in thought. "'Thou art more lovely and more – um, lovely and more – temperamental!'" Harold responded defiantly, causing Marian to nearly collapse in laughter.

"Well, it's close enough," she told him, wiping the tears of mirth from her eyes. "I'd say your version is a good deal more truthful than the original, at least."

Stepping behind her, Harold wrapped his arms possessively around her waist, pressing a light kiss against her golden locks. "You're the only person I've ever met that can take the power of words away from me, Madam Librarian."

Suddenly, Marian was finding herself at a loss for words as well as she reveled happily in the warmth of his nearness. "The words you use are just fine, Harold," she told him at last.

Harold, however, no longer seemed concerned with their previous conversation as he occupied himself with the task of nuzzling and kissing the top of her head. "Your hair always smells delectable, do you know that?" he pondered. "Such beautiful hair, too, like spun gold... I don't think I've ever seen such lovely hair."

Too content to admonish him for such outrageous flattery, Marian simply accepted the compliments with a dreamy smile and leaned back in his arms. "I don't know if I'd go that far, but I have always been proud of my hair. Goodness knows where it came from, with my mother and brother and father all as red as carrots! I think my father's mother may have been a yellow-haired lady, but I never met her." She gazed up at the passing clouds as her mind fixed upon a long-ago memory. "When I was very little my hair reached down past my waist, and when I wore it in a single braid, Papa would call me 'Rapunzel'. When I took it all down at night before I went to sleep, he'd call out, 'Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair!'"

Marian giggled softly, still hearing her father's playful words in her mind. "I do still wear it long, of course, but I'm tall enough now that it doesn't look nearly as impressive."

"You know, I've never seen you with your hair down," Harold mused, his fingers gently teasing the stray curls around her ears.

"Yes, you have," Marian asserted, a bit confused by his statement. "I've worn it down several times – in curls, like on the night of the ice cream sociable – you always tell me how much you like it."

Harold shook his head. "That's not down, darling. While I think it's lovely when you have it set all pretty like that, I mean down – no pins or anything."

"Well, it wouldn't exactly be appropriate for me to go around in public with my hair loose, would it?" All at once she was imagining what it might be like to have Harold run his hands through her hair, and her heart leapt at the thought. Her hands unconsciously flew to her hairpins, pushing them more firmly into her hair, and in a moment Harold's fingers were covering hers, tracing the shape of her chignon.

"No, it wouldn't be appropriate," he purred into her ear in a low, smooth voice. "But I'd sure like to see it."

Even in her innocence, Marian could perceive the suggestive hint in Harold's tone, and the reaction of her body was instantaneous. Images of Harold unpinning her hair suddenly turned to images of him removing her clothing and her underthings, kissing her bare skin... Her free hand clenched into a fist at her side, gripping the fabric of her skirt in an attempt to keep control.

"My hair," she stammered, flustered. "You mean my hair." Her heart was beating at such a rapid pace that she could hear the pulse of blood in her ears.

"Mmm," Harold murmured, his fingers trailing slowly, slowly down her fingers, down her arm until he was caressing the nape of her neck with feather-light touches. Nothing he was doing was truly untoward, but he might as well have been undressing her for all the effect his touch had on her. Every part of her felt awake and alive and ready for his touch.

She was finding that it was becoming rather difficult to breathe properly – and then Harold's lips were on her neck and even her ability to think was melting away, and she could only sigh and gasp and delight in his caresses.

He trailed little kisses and love-bites around her neck and her jaw, making her shiver and tremble, and almost before she realized it Harold had turned her around so they were facing one another. Instead of immediately pulling her in for a true kiss, however, he tilted her chin up and ran a teasing finger across her lips, his ardent gaze locked on hers.

"Gorgeous," he breathed, and the slight waver in his voice betrayed the tumult of desire beneath his confident bearing.

Marian's mouth opened slightly under the caress of his finger as she instinctively searched for a response, but the only words that came to her mind were foolish, far too forward – _You too_. As his finger trailed over her parted lips, it lightly brushed across the tip of her tongue, a strangely intimate sensation.

However, her lack of reply didn't affect Harold in the slightest. Instead of waiting for a response, he seized the opportunity to pull her flush against him and meet her mouth with his own. He kissed her again and again, breathless, open-mouthed kisses that brought her to trembling in his arms. And just when Marian thought that she might simply swoon from bliss, the professor tightened his grasp, his hands for the first time sliding down from her waist to her hips and then her backside, pressing their bodies together.

Feeling his arousal against her was startling, and Marian's instinct was to draw back in embarrassment, but Harold's hold on her was firm, and it occurred to her that he had _wanted_ her to feel this – a thought that flooded her body with desire once again. It had never even occurred to her that their kissing would be enough to arouse him to such a degree, and she wondered if this happened to him often when they did this. Pressing her hips back against his in curiosity and longing, she was shocked when her actions provoked a low, husky groan from Harold, and even more so when she became aware of the quivering response from between her own legs. In her addled state, she couldn't decide if she was grateful or disappointed that Harold could not perceive the effects that their embrace had been having on her – but when they broke apart, gasping, Marian suspected that he must have known. His eyes blazed with a fire that she had never seen there before, his expression intense and unsmiling. The energy between them was magnetic; it would have taken very little to send them tumbling back into each other's arms.

Recognizing the immense dangers of the situation they had gotten themselves into, Marian abruptly disentangled herself from Harold's arms, forced a lighthearted laugh and walked a few steps to the lakeside, hoping that she could pretend as if what had happened between them had merely been a light flirtation. Desperate for something to distract herself from the desire that still clouded her mind and lay on the surface of her skin, she hurriedly picked a small stone of the ground and flicked it into the water, trying to make it skip – a pursuit that she had not engaged in since childhood, and in which she had never had a lick of success.

She felt terribly self-conscious, intensely aware of her flushed skin and the unmistakable dampness in her drawers – but she was even more embarrassed by the fact that Harold, just behind her, must have been fighting off his own much more visible symptoms. After a few minutes had passed in silence, Marian felt that she could once again turn to face Harold, who was leaning a bit awkwardly against a tree, checking his pocket watch.

"Well!" she declared, a bit too cheerily. "I suppose we should probably be going, don't you think?"

In response, Harold grimaced. "I'm sorry, Marian – did I upset you? I know that may have been a bit too much."

The librarian's eyes widened in disbelief, and she shook her head. "I'm not upset, Harold... I just..." She moved closer to him, biting her lip in anxiety. "We should be careful, so we don't... make a mistake," she whispered, her voice becoming nearly inaudible in her mortification.

"Right, right," Harold responded with a quick nod as he moved to take her hand. The two of them hastily moved away from the shore to more well-traveled pathways, Harold guiding their conversation to more mundane matters, and it seemed, for the time being, that the matter was resolved.

But even in public, even as the November winds blew against them as they walked down the street, Marian could not stop feeling the heat of Harold's lips and hands and body against hers, and what scared her the most was the nagging thought that what they had done had still not been enough for her.


	2. Shame and Secrets

_By night on my bed I sought him whom my soul loveth: I sought him, but I found him not. (Song of Solomon 3:1)_

xxx

Sitting on her bed in her bathrobe that evening, combing her wet hair, Marian still felt a little dazed over all that had happened that day. Truth be told, very little had actually happened between them, other than a relatively brief foray past a physical boundary that they had yet to cross, but the new experience continued to wreak havoc with her body and mind all these hours later. She had never felt so uncomfortably aware of her own body; as she unpinned her hair and undressed for her bath, her thoughts were of how much Harold would want to see her in such a state, and that soon enough he would get to do just that. And then her mind had run down even more indecent avenues as she realized that she was rather excited to see and touch all of Harold, as well, especially after the intriguing preview she had gotten today of what lay beneath his clothing... Most distressing of all, the most intimate and secret parts of her body, areas that she had never seen nor touched, felt outright hot and bothered, making it impossible for her to turn her attention away from them as she should.

Furious and dismayed at herself, Marian had scrubbed her skin almost to the point of pain, trying to quell the prurient impulses that might lead her to do something truly wicked. She was certain that she had gotten herself under control – by the time she emerged from the bath, she was feeling more sore than sensual.

But her longings would not be defeated so easily – the temporary discomfort she had distracted herself with was not enough to conceal the deeper ache that her body had been cultivating for months on end. Her thoughts incessantly returned to the memory of Harold's body pressed against her own, and how eager she was to feel that again. It was a feeling something like hunger, yet much worse in that not only was there no way to relieve it, its very presence surely proved that there was something wrong with her.

She had, in the past, been able to dismiss her sensual impulses by reasoning that perhaps they somehow came from Harold's influence instead of from within. Now, having been apart from Harold for hours and still unable to ward off those thoughts, Marian was at last forced to accept that her feelings were not simply born of some kind of womanly weakness to Harold's considerable charms. Her desire, inconvenient and improper though it may have been, was entirely her own responsibility.

Opening her closet, Marian gazed wistfully at her wedding dress. Running her fingers along the exquisite embroidery and lace on the bodice, she wondered if she could ever live up to the image that such a gown presented. Love, she had always believed, should be good and pure and righteous, not tainted by base, animalistic appetites, and now she felt no better than the scarlet woman that so many had once thought her to be.

After shedding her bathrobe, the librarian threw on a heavy flannel nightgown and drawers – heavier than the weather required, in the hopes that the layers of fabric would serve to protect her from her own body. As she sank into her bed, perversely frustrated by both her unsatisfied desire and by the fact that she felt it at all, Marian resolved herself to solve her problems the best way she knew how – to research.

xxx

The next day, Marian discovered a distinct advantage of being the librarian – the position allowed one to borrow some rather embarrassing reading material while keeping the matter entirely private. She was certain that she would have died of shame on the spot if forced to present the works she had assembled to a librarian to be stamped – while it was a rather eclectic mix, the theme would be glaringly obvious to anybody with the most basic knowledge of literature. She even had the special privilege of being able to make a couple of choice selections from the locked storage room of the library, where she kept the books from Uncle Maddy's collection that were far too scandalous to be circulated. The entire day long, as she helped patrons and shelved books, she surreptitiously stashed a book in her bag whenever she had the opportunity. By late afternoon, the satchel had grown heavy with its cargo, although it still appeared innocent to all the world. It was rather ironic, Marian thought, that now, after nobody in town suspected her any longer of the slightest immorality, she should be hoarding such a selection of questionable literature – some of it illegal – barely out of public view!

Ever since she had fallen in love with Harold, Marian had developed a fiercely revived interest in romantic poetry and literature, dreamily reflecting upon how the characters' happy sentiments mirrored her own while blushing at the mere mention of a kiss. After their engagement, she had even dared to steal a few furtive glances into books on anatomy and physiology in order to better understand the specifics of what marital relations would involve – after all, no one could possibly claim that it was immoral to educate oneself in the noble pursuit of science! Science was vague in its own ways, however, so concerned with esoteric internal processes that it was difficult to remember that she was reading about _people_ at all, never mind determine what the experience of this act might be like.

Now, however, Marian felt that she could no longer afford to tiptoe around the issue at hand, now that she was motivated not simply by the natural curiosity of a bride but by a need to vindicate her own moral character. This time, the librarian drove straight to the heart of the matter, putting together a selection of controversial readings that would have sent Anthony Comstock into a hysterical rage.

Even in her own bedroom she stowed the books carefully away, already hearing in her mind the way her mother would laugh if she discovered them in the course of routine housekeeping. Marian sensed that her mother, in her usual earthy openness, would have a thing or two to say on the subject, and she wasn't sure that was a conversation that she could bear to have. In the light of day, while she was giving piano lessons or helping her mother cook or playing games with Harold and Winthrop, she was always aware of the incriminating evidence barely concealed within her room. Though she had assigned herself quite the substantial amount of reading, she took the utmost care not to betray that she had undertaken this research project through any change in her daily habits. So, every night before going to sleep, Marian spent her usual reading time doing just what she had scolded mischievous teenagers for on countless occasions – scanning books for their most scandalous and suggestive, and therefore informative, passages.

For this purpose she had procured a wide range of books, from the moralistic to the outright obscene, and was dismayed to find that she was not greatly comforted by what she found in any of them. Nothing that she read gave her any indication that such inordinate desires were compatible with being a good wife or a proper lady.

The more stringent, socially acceptable volumes addressed physical intimacy as a sort of necessary evil in marriage, an unpleasant procedure that a wife must endure to make possible the conception of children. Even the more permissive authors who acknowledged the existence of a woman's desire and pleasure asserted that it could only be brought about by assiduous effort on the part of the husband, and that dangers still lurked for a woman who felt too much of it. It seemed to Marian that the general consensus was that overindulgence in sensual pleasures, even in the realm of thought, made a person sickly and mentally feeble – an assertion that stood out even to her as a blatant lie, knowing what she knew about Harold's nature.

But the "dirty" books weren't any more encouraging – the women in those novels were nobody with whom Marian could identify, usually prostitutes or adulteresses who were consumed by lust without the least regard for love or even common decency. And even as Marian recoiled in shock from some of the more explicit descriptions, it still made her heart pound in nervous excitement and her nether regions ache uncomfortably to imagine Harold and herself doing such things together, which in turn made her feel ashamed of herself all over again.

After five nights of fruitless searching, with the wedding less than a week away, the librarian was not feeling any better about her predicament. If she could have found even one sentence that unequivocally absolved her of her guilt (like searching for a single righteous man in the city of Sodom, she thought grimly) she might have been satisfied. Instead, her reading only sank her further into self-recrimination.

It must have meant something, Marian surmised, that no book that she could find portrayed a wife's passionate desire for her husband. While she had read plenty of literature that praised the emotional facets of love, it seemed she couldn't find a word of it that celebrated the erotic in a manner that was not sinful or hedonistic. The answer, unwelcome though it may have been, seemed to be that she was, in fact, in the wrong.

Thinking practically, Marian knew that Harold wanted her at least as much as she wanted him. As if feeling the physical proof of his desire had not been enough, she had never been unaware of the smoldering way he looked at her or the way that he sometimes seemed to fight with himself to avoid pushing their embraces too far. And it followed logically that Harold would want a wife who reciprocated his passions in kind, and he would not condemn those desires – yet everything that she knew told her that she was wrong to feel the way that she did! The circularity of it all was enough to make her sick.

Consigning the last book to her bag with a heavy _thud_ , Marian threw herself wearily on her pillow and switched off her lamp. If she was going to be rational, the most straightforward course of action would simply be to talk to him. But she knew that she just couldn't do it – the only thing worse than feeling these illicit desires was the idea of giving voice to them.

As she huddled under the covers in her small bed, the thoughts were already creeping into her mind as she dozed off, slowly at first. It had become quite cold again, and it was delightful to think of Harold slipping into bed beside her, enfolding her in his warm embrace. At first he'd just kiss her, teasing her neck with his lips and tongue. She'd sigh and lean back as she reveled in his caresses, softly pleading for him to continue, allowing him to trail his hands down her body. And then – then maybe he'd slip her nightgown over her head, pull her drawers down, heat her up by running his hands everywhere, everywhere –

Marian jolted wide awake again, jamming her fingernails into her palms to make sure she returned hastily to reality. Why was it so very difficult for her to cure herself of this? There was nothing she could do to control her dreams, of course, but she could at least have the decency not to think about such things while she was still conscious! Resenting herself for being so weak, Marian concentrated on trying to empty her mind completely until she could at last be overtaken by the oblivion of sleep.


	3. In Every Way

_Past all thought of right or wrong, one final question:_  
 _How long should we two wait before we're one?_  
 _When will the blood began to race? The sleeping bud burst into bloom? When will the flames at last consume us?_

_–Andrew Lloyd Webber/Charles Hart, "The Point of No Return" – The Phantom of the Opera_

xxx

When she was together with Harold, Marian never felt a hint of the shame that had been haunting her thoughts. Everything always felt so natural with him, whether they were casually conversing or wrapped in the most ardent of embraces. So, despite the guilt that she felt afterwards, Marian made no attempt to stop Harold from kissing and caressing her, though as each day went by her longing for him grew more desperate.

She perceived a change in the way Harold held her as well, as if more and more of his passion was breaking through his careful restraint, and at times the tension between them was as heavy as it had been in July and all words, all breath, all thought became superfluous in the face of such ardor.

Nothing that they had done after that day by the lakeside had been nearly as daring, but Marian found that it hardly mattered anymore. Even the briefest of caresses from Harold now sent her into a near-delirium of wanting to be closer, closer, _closer_ to him. Her sweet dreams of Harold, once of nothing more provocative than spring picnics and summer strolls together, now nearly always ended with the two of them clinging fiercely together and removing each other's clothing; that is, if they didn't start off that way to begin with.

In public, she was generally able to keep her thoughts under control, but then sometimes Harold would do something as innocuous as whisper in her ear or place a hand on her back and she would feel herself blushing from head to toe. Marian felt certain that her immodesty must have shown on her face as plain as day, expecting any moment that the ladies would start whispering about her again.

Her worst trial was in church on Sunday, when the accidental brush of Harold's leg against her own led her to concentrate so hard on _not_ thinking anything inappropriate that she simply couldn't help it, and she could think of nothing but his electrifying nearness, the way she would love for him to hold her close to his body. Marian held her breath, half expecting that God would strike her down right there for mental desecration of a sacred place. One of the Catholic prayers that she had heard from her mother entered into her mind, the words burning her like hot irons: _I have sinned exceedingly, in thought and word, in what I have done and what I have failed to do..._

_Through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault._

She bowed her head, wondering how Harold could ever manage to love her if he knew of her most grievous fault.

xxx

Although trying not to want him too much was exhausting, nothing could truly take away the joy and excitement that Marian felt from being with Harold and knowing that their wedding was so close. In these last days, most of the planning had already been taken care of, and Marian felt that she could relax a bit, although she still had a good deal of packing to do. The most momentous task facing her actually had very little to do with the wedding – staying after hours to get the library in order before she left on her honeymoon, so that the other employees would not have too much difficulty running the place in her absence.

Harold had kindly offered to help her in this task, and though Marian knew that she could sorely use a second pair of hands in some of the more laborious jobs, she had turned him down, nervous about spending an extended amount of time completely alone with her fiancé while their wedding was so close. Once she would have worried only about how such an arrangement might look – but now, she was genuinely afraid of what might happen between them. Of course, she hadn't told him that, instead telling the half-truth that the work would go more quickly if performed by somebody who was more familiar with the organization of the library.

Of course, Harold still arrived to escort her home, as he always did, and Marian was still happy to see him, as she always was. But as he waited patiently for her to finish her work, sitting at a table and reading while she shelved books in the reference section, the librarian couldn't resist shyly requesting his help with a set of weighty encyclopedias that belonged on a rather high shelf.

"I'll just stand on the ladder, and you can hand them up to me order. It won't take long, I promise," she explained apologetically.

Harold smiled and rose to follow her without hesitation. "I already said I'd help you, dear – you've certainly dedicated a great deal of your time to helping me at the Emporium. It's really no trouble at all."

It wasn't until she had climbed up the ladder that she realized what a compromising situation she had unintentionally placed them in, however – with her standing above him, Marian became aware that Harold was in a very convenient position from which to admire her backside, and, for all his gentility, she knew that he would be taking full advantage of the opportunity. What's more, she found that she enjoyed knowing that he was looking at her that way, as improper as she knew it to be. Every time that he handed another volume up to her, the librarian's blush deepened, and she could feel her hands begin to tremble a little bit. By the time that Harold helped her down off the ladder – which he did with an arm around her waist, making her breath come even faster – Marian was certain that she would melt helplessly into his arms if they didn't get out into public immediately.

"Thank you, Harold," she said, trying to keep her tone prim and professional. "I think that will do for tonight. It would be best if I went home now, I think."

"Home?" Harold asked with a wry smile. "It's been a while since we took a visit to the Candy Kitchen, or perhaps even the footbridge..."

"I have a lot of packing to do, still," she explained, blushing. "Even the things that I'm not packing for our honeymoon still have to be packed up so they can be moved to your – to, um, our house."

"Well, I wouldn't want to keep you from an important job like that," said Harold, moving closer to her. "But I think it might be wise for us to get at least one kiss in tonight – you know, so that we don't get out of practice."

"What – what are you talking about?" Marian laughed nervously.

The music professor grinned with shameless glee as he teased his fiancée. "Well, you know, when the preacher says 'you may kiss the bride', I think it's important that we give the crowd a good one, hmm? It would be an awful shame if we couldn't get right such an important part of the wedding!"

He was talking utter nonsense, of course, but Marian was having a hard time turning down the kiss that she wanted so dearly. A single kiss wouldn't do any real harm, anyway, she reasoned – they had kissed in the library many times before. "Practice _does_ make perfect," she conceded, giving him a small smile.

When he took her into his arms, he kissed her deeply but gently, without the slightest hint of asking for more – but Marian could still feel her body reacting, the thrill running through her body and the tingling ache that raced down to her abdomen, and she remembered all too quickly just why she had been afraid of being alone with him like this. It felt good, good enough to make her wonder what it might be like if... no, no, she had to stop this, she couldn't afford to descend any further into lust! Deciding that enough was enough, she pressed firmly on his chest, breaking their kiss and shaking her head.

"Harold, I _can't_ ," she whimpered, trying in vain to conceal how heavy her breathing had become.

She felt a strange mixture of gratitude and disappointment when Harold quickly stepped back to give her space, although his expression was searching and intent.

"What's wrong, darling?" he asked, his brow furrowed in concern. "Did – did I hurt you?"

Marian let out a sardonic laugh. "No, not even close. As a matter of fact, it's – oh, I shouldn't say it."

"Whatever it is, you can say it. I don't want you thinking that you need to hide from me." While Harold remained patient with her, Marian could see that he was taking great pains to conceal his frustration. Not that she could fault him for it – she knew too well how distressing it was when a loved one was upset and refused to speak about it, but in this particular case there was truly nothing that she could say without compromising decorum.

Choosing her words with great care, Marian settled on a sentence that she hoped would convey the delicate nature of her predicament without revealing any sensitive details. "It isn't something that an unmarried woman should talk about," she told him in an urgent whisper, her face flushing as she spoke.

Now Harold seemed even more vexed, however. He folded his arms and looked her squarely in the eyes, his lips a tight line. " _Please_ , Marian. In a few days we're going to be husband and wife, and I don't want to think that you're going into this with any doubts. You know I'd do anything to make you feel better, but if you won't tell me what's the matter, I can't do anything!" Relaxing his posture a bit, he placed his hand over hers, gently stroking her palm with his thumb. "Nothing you could say would ever make me love you less – you know that."

Casting her eyes down to their joined hands, Marian nodded, her resolve weakening. Although it might not be proper to tell him what she was thinking, she was nervous enough about their wedding night without this particular issue bothering her – and nothing could ever be resolved if they couldn't even talk about it. Besides, she had accepted Harold completely despite everything that came with his past, so maybe he did deserve to know the unpleasant truth about her. She owed him that much. As soon as she had made up her mind, she spoke quickly, afraid that if she paused to think she might lose her nerve.

"I don't want you to think for a second that I've changed my mind about marrying you. But I'm worried, I'm afraid of myself. What it is –" she took a deep breath, still unable to look at him " –what it is, is that when we kiss, when we're together, even when I just think of you, well, I _want_ things... things that I shouldn't even be thinking about, never mind wanting. So I'm not good, not the way you think I am."

As soon as the last word had escaped her mouth, Marian squeezed her eyes shut, too ashamed to face a world in which those words had been spoken, feeling just as lightheaded and unsteady as she had the first time that she had told him that she loved him though she knew he would not respond in kind. She braced herself for a long silence between them, but her fiancé answered her so quickly that she nearly jumped. "That's it? That's what's bothering you?" exclaimed Harold, and the relief in his response so astonished Marian that she had to look him in the eyes again.

"You mean that doesn't upset you?" she asked, her eyes widening in disbelief. Hope perched in her soul, although she couldn't quite understand why he would be so unconcerned by this revelation. Had he misunderstood what she had told him?

"No, I'm not upset!" Harold's tone was laced with barely-suppressed laughter, as if he found the very suggestion preposterous. "Marian, it wouldn't have occurred to me to think that you _didn't_ want that. You _are_ good, sweetheart, but that doesn't mean that you don't feel – you've got quite the temper on you, but you love passionately as well. It's one of the things that I love most about you, and why would I want you to be otherwise?"

The librarian shrugged listlessly, still unconvinced. "I'm not the least bit ashamed of loving you, but isn't this something different? You've called me an angel, told me that you love how I'm so pure-hearted and virtuous, but I don't feel like that at all."

Harold grasped his fiancée by the shoulders, his touch careful but firm, and she could see the desperate sincerity in his eyes. "And those things are still true! But I love you as a woman, not some kind of porcelain doll. I don't know who taught you that you needed to act like one, but I never, never want you to be anything less than yourself with me."

A woman, not a doll? The librarian suspected that for many people, including the authors of some of those more austere marriage manuals, the two were synonymous. "Is this how a woman feels, then?" Marian asked, frowning. "I've always understood that those kinds of thoughts were more typical of a man. A woman doesn't feel those things unless there's something wrong with her."

"A woman, a man – aren't we all human beings? A woman and a man might feel these things a little differently, but the human race wouldn't have continued all these thousands of years if there weren't passions in both of us. But somewhere down the line, somebody in charge decided it was safer to keep women thinking that they were so very different from men, so when a passionate gal like you comes along, she has to talk herself out of it or else get crushed under the guilt they heap on her. It's downright criminal, really – nothing but fear-mongering. People who love each other, people who are getting married, should want to be with each other in _every_ way, or what kind of a marriage is that? I love you in that way, Marian, and you have no idea how happy it makes me to know that you love me in that way, too."

Marian couldn't help but smile a little at the lofty speech Harold had gotten himself caught up in – reformed or not, he still had the skills of a smooth-talking salesman. She knew enough about Harold by now to tell that he was utterly sincere in his silver-tongued words, however, and she loved to hear that she had made him happy with her confession. The assurance that Harold did not find her passions to be deviant lifted Marian's spirits considerably, but she had to remind herself that his approval did not in itself solve her problem. "I still worry – what if I, um, give into it?" she stammered.

A seductive smile crept onto Harold's face, and he took a step forward, backing her against the shelf. "You won't have to worry about that much longer, Miss Marian," he murmured, his warm breath brushing her ear and raising goosebumps on her skin. "Just five more days of this and you'll be all mine, and I'll be all yours. I, for one, will be counting the minutes." He tapped a finger underneath her chin and then she was gazing into his eyes, breathless. "You will be too, won't you, my dear little librarian?"

"Oh, Harold," she sighed, utterly at his mercy. "Of course I will."

Leaning down to close the distance between them, Harold gave her a tender kiss that, although rather chaste compared to some that they had shared recently, carried a heated, unspoken promise that electrified Marian to her toes. The familiar waves of longing swept over her again, but this time, Marian tentatively allowed herself to embrace them, to feel desire without the guilt. Five days, five interminable days and then they could live out every sweet, secret longing that either of them had ever felt... suddenly, Harold's suggestion of counting the minutes didn't seem like hyperbole.

She didn't know if physical relations were the sort of thing that one could be "good" or "bad" at, but she suspected that if anybody could be very good, it would be Harold. The way he could affect her simply by kissing her was monumental, and she was almost sure that what waited for them beyond those thresholds they had yet to cross could only be untold ecstasy. She was coming to understand the subtle meaning behind all of Harold's teasing hints of pleasure – if there was ecstasy to be found in this world, he wanted to give it to her in any way that he could manage. Marian wanted the same for him, she realized, and it was this that made her desires morally acceptable, this that set love apart from lust, that wish not just to receive but to give and to share.

When they parted at last, Harold wore a grin that was positively incandescent, and she could only assume that she looked much the same way.

"See?" he whispered, as though he knew exactly what she was feeling. "Nothing bad about that unless you tell yourself there is."

 _Nothing bad about that,_ she repeated in her mind, slowly letting herself believe it. Feeling freer than she had for days, the librarian pulled Harold back to her for another long, indulgent kiss, letting him know on no uncertain terms that she was quite eager to get over that hang-up.

"Nothing bad at all," she assured him in her most flirtatious tone, her fingers running through the hair at the back of his neck, wanting to test how much she could affect him in a sort of payback for rendering her so helpless in his arms. As he gazed at her, the music professor looked a little stunned, eyes blazing with barely-restrained desire; Marian's smile turned triumphant.

"Darling, I think it would be wise if we left now," Harold said in a hoarse voice. "Five days might not sound like a long time, but if you're going to start acting like _that..._ "

Marian laughed and took his hand, all innocence again. "Like what?" she teased, pulling him out of the aisle and toward the front of the building.

As the two of them donned their coats and departed from the library, Marian reflected that she was awfully lucky to end up with a man who not only provoked such intensity of feeling in her, but also loved her in return with just as much abundant passion. Though it would probably take a good while before she could truly stop associating desire with shame, the very fact that Harold had given her the freedom to do so seemed to open a whole new world of possibilities. She was finally feeling ready to be with him, as he had said, in _every_ way – and to enjoy it.

The only trouble currently on her mind was that five days now sounded to her like a very, very long time.


End file.
